I’m not much of a New Year’s resolution girl…I’m more of a birthday resolution girl.  Maybe it’s because I’m a February baby so it’s not too far from the new year and it also gives all the New Year’s resolution people time to either get in a routine or bail.  This birthday was no different.  At 45, I knew I had to get serious.  I set my intentions.  This year was going to be all about taking care of me…body, mind, and soul…ALL of me.

My first step was to do what we all do…I joined a gym.  Not just any gym, but the gym I’ve been a member of probably at least 20 prior times.  This time I decided to up the ante.  Instead of joining for one month to decide if it was going to be a waste of money, I joined for six months AND I signed the whole family up.  Maybe that would help me stay motivated.  And off I went.  My first class was a weight lifting class.  I purposely went VERY light on the weight, knowing if I didn’t, I would feel like a truck ran over me the next morning since it had been over a year since I had lifted weights.  I’ve done this class many times so I knew what to expect, but I didn’t expect how much my body would fight it.  It was painful as I did it but I made it through the class.

The next morning I did not feel like a truck ran over me, I felt like TWO trucks ran over me and then parked!  I seriously couldn’t move.  If you’ve ever been really sore after working out you know what I’m talking about it.  There would be no squatting to pee, I could only use the handicap bathroom at work and that was only if my shaking arms didn’t give out trying to hold me up on the handicap rails.  I went the long way everywhere to avoid all stairs and after trying to lift my arm to staple something on a bulletin board for about 5 minutes, I just gave up.  I knew it was bad when I was waiting in line behind a 90 year old man and he dropped a dime.  We both looked at each other and I thought, “Oh crap.”  We both went for the dime (at the same pace I might add) and he beat me to it.  I couldn’t get back up so he was kind enough to help me!  The only place I could find any relief was in a hot bathtub.  I was miserable.

That evening I went to sit down on the couch with my husband.  After watching me for a quite some time try to sit without bending at all, he said to me, “You know you have to go back.”  I ignored him.  “You have to work through the pain.  Once you work through the pain it won’t hurt any more or it will at least be bearable.”  He was right (as usual)…and not just about the gym.

We tend to want to avoid painful situations and uncomfortable feelings.  If we ignore it long enough, it will go away.  But will it? 

We certainly don’t want to revisit experiences that have hurt us, but until we do, we are never free of them and nothing changes.  We can push them way down and pretend they don’t exist, but they will continue to eat away at us in all kinds of unhealthy ways. 

Everyone I know is dealing with some kind of pain.  There are times we never acknowledge our pain because we minimize it.  Yes, we are hurting, but we know so many people who have it “worse than us” so we don’t feel entitled to feel our pain.  And then we have other judging our pain, comparing their pain to ours, thereby making our pain seem trivial.  I once read somewhere that the pain of the death of a loved one, the pain of the end of a relationship, and the pain of a child losing a teddy bear are no different. Pain is pain and no one should put limits on it or qualify it.

And then there are times it’s, well, just too painful.  We just don’t feel like we can face it.  So we look for answers in all the wrong places and the pain just multiplies.  It’s not until we truly work through our pain in a healthy and productive way that we can be free of it.  Being free does not mean we forget or we never feel sad, it just means we don’t let the pain control us anymore…it becomes bearable.

For those wondering, I did go back to the gym and my soreness is now the “good kind” of pain.  I’ve been very consistent with this class because I know if I don’t continue to go, I’ll be right back where I started…in pain.  And who wants to be there?!?

About six years ago, we completely renovated our house.  When I say renovated, I mean pretty much gutted it and started over.  I handled that the way I handle most things in my life…it handled me!  I was working full time, we were living in a very small rental home, I had two elementary aged kids, and things were happening much faster than I anticipated.  The workers helping to build the house even “packed” some of my stuff and a decade worth of my life was stored all over the place.  It was a mess.   

When we got moved in to the new house, I realized what a mess it really was.  Boxes were missing, some of our stuff had gotten ruined when a basement where we had things stored flooded, and many items were lost in the move.  One item that turned up missing was a box with my personal files in it.  All of the files were very important and special to me, but one of the files was an accumulation of memories of my dad…his will, the letter he wrote me before he died, newspaper articles about him, mementos from his funeral, a genealogy he worked on before his death, cards, pictures, and a lifetime of other stuff that I had deemed important enough to keep all those years.

I searched for that box for about three years, never allowing myself to believe it was actually gone.  I would not permit myself to even think about it.  Once I realized it really was gone, I was heartbroken.  I felt like my dad had died for a second time.  Now, not only was he gone, but all of his memories were gone as well.  I have refused to even think about it because it is so crushing to me and I have hated myself for ever letting it out of my sight.

Fast forward to a couple of weekends ago (no, I didn’t find the files!)  Todd and I decided to take Bella for a walk to a piece of land called “the love tunnel”.  I’m assuming it’s called this because (1) it’s a tunnel and (2) it’s spray painted with all sorts of expressions of love.  When Todd and I were in high school, we added our names to the tunnel, along with a date that had a special meaning to us.  I had not been up there in many years and my curiosity piqued as to what I would see when I got there.  Well, it was gone.  Not a trace of those two young, naive kids who believed our love was as invincible as that spray paint.

But in that moment as I searched the tunnel wall for any sign of the dedication of our love, I realized something very important.  I didn’t need to “see” the painted words in order to remember that day almost thirty years ago and what we wrote.  And I don’t need to “see” the file I kept on my dad to remember how much I loved him and how much he loved me.  I also don’t need to “see” all the important people in my life to remember what they mean to me.  My love and my memories of all the special people I have loved throughout my life are in a much safer place than a tunnel wall or a file…they are in my heart.  That’s the place where they will never get lost and where they will never fade.  So, I’m forgiving myself for losing that file, I’m going to stop worrying that without the “things” I might one day forget my dad,  and I’m just going to remember… because as long as I remember, the people I love will never be forgotten.

If you've been following my blog from the beginning, you know that part of my inspiration for this journey came from a stray cat that showed up at our house last summer.  Here is that post.  I wouldn't go as far as to say Sadie became part of our family, but more like she became part of me.  Unfortunately, as unexpectedly as she came, she's gone.  I have not seen her for two weeks.  That's not a good sign.  She has waited at the back door every morning for a year for her breakfast and every evening for her dinner.  She would be sunning on the porch every afternoon when I got home from work and asleep in the garage or on the porch every night before I went to bed.  She has stayed away for a day sometimes, but I don't believe she would purposely stay away this long.  This is the first time I've really talked about it, because I felt like if I said it out loud or wrote it down that it would make it real and I wasn't ready for that until now.  Sadie deserves a good-bye.

When I think about what that sweet cat taught me, three lessons come immediately to mind.

Be open to new things...I hated cats.  Period.  I have never owned a cat, paid no mind to any cats that might be pets of my friends, and did my best to avoid cats at all costs.  I have no idea why.  I just thought I didn't like them.  "I'm a dog person" I would say to everyone.  I'm not really sure why I felt you either needed to be a "dog person" or a "cat person" and you couldn't be both, but that's beside the point.  She taught me to be open to new ideas and even old ideas that may not be true to who I am anymore.  By loving her, I realize I never hated cats, I just never gave them a chance.  I was never open to the idea and had a pre-conceived notion about something I knew nothing about it.  I think about how many other things in my life I haven't given a chance because I have already made a judgment based on a past experience or memory or even because I'm afraid.  (And yes, I will be trying yogurt today.  I have in my head I hate yogurt so I have refused to try it my entire adult life.  I have a yucky look on my face right now even thinking about it, but considering I don't actually have a memory of ever eating it and not liking it, I think I've created the whole thing in my head!  I'll keep you posted!)

A simple life is a happy life...As with most animals, she didn't need much to be happy.  She just wanted to be fed, a safe place to sleep, and a little attention here and there.  That's it.  I tried to buy her some fancy cat toys one time but she looked at me like "Girl...really?" and never touched them.  She was happy with the sun on her face and the peace that came with knowing she was safe...that she didn't need to look over her shoulder all the time.  I do believe she was genuinely happy this past year and that definitely brings me some comfort.  And I agree with her, a simple life is a happy life.  The more "stuff" I accumulate in my house and even in my mind, only makes my life feel cluttered.  I don't need it.  She has inspired me to simplify.

We all want to belong, to feel connected...As independent as Sadie was, she still wanted to belong to something...to our family.  She wanted to feel loved and she wanted to feel connected to something bigger than herself.  One day when I wasn't feeling well and I was in bed all day, Todd brought her into the house and put her in the bed with me.  She never left my side.  She wanted to be touching me the whole time.  We all need that human touch.  We all need to feel loved.  We all want to belong.  There's not a person out there, no matter how independent and strong, that doesn't have these basic needs.  We should always remember that.

If Sadie is still alive, I hope she's found a loving home and I will always be looking for to show up again.  If she's not, I just hope there was no suffering and she is looking down on me from a very happy place.  We had a very special connection.  I always felt like she was watching me...looking after me.  And there were times this year, I needed to feel like someone was watching out for me.  She brought me comfort, she showed me love, and she gave me inspiration.  I will be forever grateful.  Dr. Seuss says "Don't cry because it's over.  Smile because it happened."  I'm smiling Sadie, I'm smiling.

4/16…that’s all you have to say around here.  Those numbers speak for themselves.  You remember EXACTLY where you were on that day, EXACTLY what you were doing, and the images from that horrific day are etched in your memory forever.  I was lucky.  My frantic phone calls to loved ones, even those on campus, ended with an answer.  I remember reading one of the first responders expressing the desperation he felt as he numbly walked through the carnage that day and heard the victims’ cell phones ringing, and saw “mom” or “daddy” on the displays.

Our public schools were closed for almost a week.  I would sit in front of the TV for hours watching the news and just weep.  My husband would beg for me to stop but I couldn’t.  It was like I was watching the latest box office Hollywood movie and I was waiting for the ending.  Waiting to see that everything worked out, waiting to see this was not real, waiting for a happy ending.  I didn’t get one.

Virginia Tech is as much a part of me as my arms or legs…something I never even think about because I’ve never lived a day without it.  I was born in Blacksburg, spent my childhood in Blacksburg, graduated from Blacksburg High School, graduated from Virginia Tech, and now I raise my own family in Blacksburg.  And I’m not the only one.  This alone shows the kind of community I live in.  My grandfather graduated from Virginia Tech.  My father received three degrees from Virginia Tech, worked in numerous departments and eventually retired as one of the Vice Presidents.  My brother and younger sister both received two degrees from Virginia Tech, and my husband is a graduate as well.  My brother was a Beta Theta Pi on campus and my sister and I were both Kappa Deltas.  It’s in our blood.  My childhood involved watching fireworks on the Drillfield every 4th of July, bowling at Squires, ice skating on the Duck Pond, church at War Memorial and $2 tickets to football games where we would all meet in Section 2 and hang out.  I graduated from high school in Burruss Hall, and as a student, I worked all over campus, including Donaldson Brown, the Copy Center, and the Corporate Research Center when it was only one building!  And now I raise my family here.  It has become an ingrained part of who my children are as well.

So where am I going with this post?  I’m not sure myself.  I could talk about gun control, school violence, or support for the mentally ill.  Or I could get more personal.  I could talk about what it was like to be on lock down in my own elementary school that infamous day.  To watch the faces of students who had parents working on campus and pray they were safe.  To be amazed by the professionalism of our staff as they continued with their teaching while they awaited answers about the fate of their own families.  I could talk about the terror of every lock down since, including this past Friday when there was a school shooting at the satellite campus of New River Community College at our local mall.  I could write about the unfairness of hearing kids who have been brought in from the playground asking so nonchalantly, “Are we on lock down?”  I could criticize the world we live in for making part of my job description to see how many students I can fit in a classroom bathroom…just.in.case.

But I can’t.  Not today.  Today I’m just going to remember.  Remember those 32 beautiful souls lost that day.  Remember their families and friends.  Remember the first responders who had to witness the horror in person that day.  Remember the faculty, staff, and students of Virginia Tech who each have their own sad story to tell.  Remember the Town of Blacksburg and the whole New River Valley, as we all had a connection in some way to the horrific events that day.  And even remember the family of the killer.  As I know nothing about them or their life since that day in 2007, I imagine they have experienced an unimaginable grief as well, just as any parent would.  I’m just going to remember, and I hope you will remember too.

Whether it’s a loved one who has passed away, a relationship that’s ended before you were ready, or a friendship that has run its course, missing someone that’s not in your life anymore is painful. 

Grief is a complicated visitor.  Sometimes we invite her in, but sometimes she comes at the most unexpected, inconvenient times.  Occasionally she stays a while and comforts us until we are ready for her to leave, while other times she races in, stays a couple of minutes, and is out the door before we can blink.  Every so often she comes with friends and we all visit together, and other times we only want to visit with her alone.  We can go days, months and sometimes even years without seeing her, but when she arrives at our doorstep, she’s as familiar as the day we met her.  Some of us remain friends with her for a lifetime, while others are able to let her go.  Most of our loved ones don’t like her or understand her, unless she is visiting them as well.  She has a hold on us like no other.

On the day my dad died, my family was gathered around his hospital bed in my parents’ bedroom.  He had passed but we were still saying goodbye and toasting his life.  I happened to glance out the bedroom window, and the mailman was delivering their mail.  I was outraged.  I did not understand how the world could keep going while my family was in such pain.  I wanted everything to stop…to show some respect for my father, for me, for my pain.  As we all know, it doesn’t.  Life goes on.  Over the years, when my heart has been that heavy with sadness, I have looked for a word that described how I felt.  Sad just seemed too mild.  I wanted a word that just didn’t say I’m sad, but screamed it from the mountain tops. (Yes, I can be a little dramatic!)  One day I was listening to my husband and son talk about a deer they had killed while hunting that day and it came to me…I felt like that deer.  I felt gutted.  Like everything on the inside had been taken out and my shell was left to carry on.

I used to believe that time heals all wounds.  But I wanted to know HOW much time.  How long before I was healed?  I kept waiting for the day I would no longer think about my loved one, the week I would no longer cry, the month I would not fall to pieces over missing sharing my life with him.  That time never came.  It was then I realized time doesn’t necessarily heal anything.  It gives you the opportunity to find ways to cope with your grief.  Time scabs over your wound, but on certain days, when you pick at the scab or hit it on something and it falls off, the wound is as fresh as the day you got it.  Time also gives you the chance to begin to think of your loved one and smile through the tears.  I don’t believe you are ever healed, but you carry on.  I don't believe you ever forget 

This blog is about lessons and I learned a very valuable lesson on the day my dad died.  I was back in my own home, in my bedroom with my daughter.  She was about four at the time.  I was sobbing.  You know, that red, puffy eyes, snot running down your face, sounds coming out you didn’t know you could make, kind of sobbing.  My daughter started to cry.  I immediately went into “counselor mode” and told her that mommy is just sad about Gdad and its ok for her to be sad also.  She should just let it out.  She looked at me and said, “Mommy, I’m not crying over Gdad, I’m crying because you look so ugly!  You’re scary!”  Well then, lesson learned!  I now never cry in public!